One name came to mind: Nathan. A friend in college who was an ethical hacker and majoring in software development. She dialed, breath catching, and launched into the story—Juniper’s disappearance, the fake adoption, the dead leads. “I know it’s crazy,” she said. “But can you help me find the address linked to this license plate?”
Nathan was quiet for a beat. Then: “Send it over. I’ll see what I can dig up.” Gabby did. Then she waited—fidgeting, refreshing her phone, pacing the hallway like a ghost. Hours passed like slow-burning candles. Finally, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Nathan.
“Got something. Brookfield. Edge of the city. It’s an old address, but that car was registered there.” Gabby clicked the map link. The street looked desolate, half-paved, lined with crumbling units. Her pulse pounded. She had no proof. No backup. But she had to go. She couldn’t walk away.
She told her boss during lunch. “I need a half day,” she said. “Family emergency.” He raised a brow. “You mean the dog?” When she nodded, he frowned. “Gabby, you don’t know what’s waiting there. Don’t go alone.” But Gabby shook her head. “I have to. For Juniper.”
He sighed, but didn’t stop her. So she grabbed her car keys, tossed a baseball bat into her car trunk and pepper spray into her tote bag, and headed for the lot. Her hands trembled. Her mind raced. But she kept on driving and didn’t stop until she arrived at the run-down neighborhood.
Gabby arrived in Brookfield just past two. The streets were sun-bleached and silent, lined with leaning fences and boarded-up windows. She parked discreetly in a shadowy alley and pulled her hoodie over her head, sunglasses slipping into place. She didn’t have the exact house number, just the license plate etched in her mind.
She walked slowly, gripping a stack of Angel Paws flyers she’d grabbed on her way out. Pretending to hand them out, she moved door to door, scanning each driveway, mailbox, and porch. She was nervous, unsure. Until she saw it—that SUV, parked crookedly in a gravel drive.
It was unmistakable. Same dents on the bumper. Same license plate. Josh’s car. Her heart lurched as she stood frozen on the opposite sidewalk. The blinds were drawn in the nearby windows. She stepped closer, inch by inch, until she reached the side of the yard—and that’s when she heard it.
Barking. Several dogs. Gabby ducked low and moved quietly along the cracked side fence, heartbeat thudding in her throat. She reached the back corner and peeked over the wooden slats—and her blood turned cold. A dozen dogs, tied with ropes, wilted under the brutal afternoon sun.
Some of them looked injured—ribs showing, fur matted, tongues hanging low as they panted furiously. One was limping in circles. Another one was licking an open wound on its leg. And in the farthest corner, curled into himself and trembling, was Juniper. His glossy coat dulled, his eyes darting around in fear. Gabby nearly gasped aloud.